


breathe

by tiredbecauseiwrite



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, M/M, Panic Attacks, Possible Triggering Content, Yuri on Ice - Freeform, comfort your boyfriend already victor, i love projecting my emotions onto fictional characters, proceed with caution is what i'm trying to say, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 01:20:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8824459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiredbecauseiwrite/pseuds/tiredbecauseiwrite
Summary: a skaters heart truly is as fragile as glass.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i'm just projecting my emotions onto innocent fictional characters, like usual. sometimes it helps. i figured i'd post this one. i'm posting this on mobile, so feel free to let me know if i made any mistakes.
> 
> edit: added some tags, fixed a couple mistakes

Yuri can't sleep.

  
He's almost dozed off a few times, but he's always shaken awake by half- dreams of shadows grabbing at his limbs, tearing him apart, cutting him with the blades on his own ice skates. One of the shadows always has icy blue eyes.

  
He opens his eyes, and the soft light from the TV bleeds into his vision, pushing the eerie almost- nightmares into the farthest reaches of his subconscious.

  
He becomes aware of his shaking hands and how much he's sweating. Victor is asleep in the bed next to him, and just the thought of waking him up makes him shake even harder.

  
His stomach flips, and he thinks he might be sick. It all dawns on him what's happening- He's having a panic attack.

  
No, that can't happen, he has to calm down. He reaches to the side table and feels around for the small bottle of sleeping pills he brought with him. His fingers close around it and he quickly opens it, pouring them into his hand. He puts all but two back and pops them in his mouth, taking a swig from his water bottle to wash them down.

  
His heartbeat is quickening. He isn't sure why he's so nervous, but--

  
Oh. Yes he is.

  
It's because of _Victor_.

  
He can't let _Victor_ down, or he'll leave. He has to succeed at the Rostelecom Cup, at least enough to move on to the Grand Prix, and if he doesn't…

  
_Victor_ won't coach him anymore.

  
He'll go back to Russia, humiliated, and Yuri will never see him again. A failure of a coach, that's what they'll call him. Yurio will get his wish of having _Victor_ return to coach him.

  
Yuri doesn't want to fail.

  
Not again.

  
The sleeping pills haven't worked. He considers taking another, but he's already had one on top of the two he just took and it hasn't even been an hour.

  
He grabs his phone and slowly gets up, walking as quietly as he can to the bathroom. The door squeaks a bit and he winces, but Victor’s even breathing continues in the same manner.

  
He sits down against the wall and tries to breathe, but his body doesn't seem to want him to. He's dying he's dying oh god he's dying, he _can't breathe he can’t breathe--_

  
“Yuri?” A voice says faintly from behind him. He hadn't even heard the door open. It’s Victor. “Are you okay?”

  
Yuri tries to answer, but all that comes out is a choked sob, one so violent he curls in on himself. He is _not_ okay, he's not, he can't breathe, isn't that obvious?

  
Victor kneels beside him, placing a hand on his back. “You need to breathe, Yuri,” He says calmly, gently pulling Yuri back so he's leaning against him. “In and out, come on.” Yuri’s almost jealous; Victor makes breathing sound so easy.

  
When Yuri doesn't calm down (because he can't), Victor tries something else. “Breathe with me, okay? Can you do that?”

  
That sounds like an easy enough task. Yuri nods.

  
Victor quickens his breathing to match Yuri’s hyperventilating. They fall into the same pace, and Yuri wonders how this is helping at all.

  
But then, Victor gradually starts to slow his breathing and, in turn, so does Yuri. It takes a long time but, eventually, they're breathing at the same slow, even pace.

  
“Is that better?” Victor asks. He runs a hand through Yuri’s hair, speaking just beside his ear.

  
“Yes,” Yuri says, voice shaking like he might break down again. “I don't… F- feel well.”

  
“I know,” Victor’s breath brushes the back of Yuri’s neck. “You haven't been here long, right?”

  
Yuri can't remember how long he's been laying on the bathroom floor crying, but he's sure it's been too long. He just shrugs.

  
Victor goes quiet, like he's thinking about something. Yuri hopes he doesn't ask why he's even in here to begin with. He doesn't want to answer that question.

  
“I'm sure you're tired,” Victor finally says. “Do you want to go to bed?”

  
“Mhm,” Yuri's eyes are already closing. Fatigue settles into his bones like thick tar, weighing him down. “I'm sorry…”

  
“For what?” Victor asks. Yuri doesn't reply. He's sure Victor already knows. For everything.

  
Victor, opting to drop the matter, stands and scoops Yuri up bridal- style. Yuri buries his face in his chest. He smells faintly like cologne and vodka, and his worn t- shirt is soft. He doesn't have the mental capacity to realize that it's _Victor_ carrying him, that it's _Victor_ who ran his hands through his hair and helped him breathe, that it's _Victor_ this and _Victor_ that. For now, _Victor_ is just Victor. He's not the Russian skater _Victor_ , not the flirtatious, elegant _Victor_. He's just… Himself.

  
Yuri likes that more than any of the other titles.

  
Victor sets him down on his bed and pulls the cover up over him. And then he leans down and presses a kiss to Yuri’s forehead. His lips are soft and cool and feel nice against his flushed skin. Yuri’s almost sad when he pulls away, that same odd pit forming in his stomach, just like when they'd kissed at the Cup of China.

  
“I'm right here if you need me,” Victor says.

  
Yuri wants to thank him, but he's asleep before he can, finally relaxed after an eternity of being awake. That doesn't seem like a difficult task, but he would have to say otherwise.

  
He dreams of Victor Nikiforov, the suave Russian skater, the skater with the softest lips and brightest eyes, the skater with the most wonderful name.

  
The skater who's shattered (and pieced back together, and stolen) his glass- fragile heart.

  
The skater he _loves_.


End file.
